


Before Sunset

by lenfaz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenfaz/pseuds/lenfaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU - A birthday gift for the awesome startswithhope</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [startswithhope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/gifts).



Killian Jones sighed deeply as he watched the morning sun invade the old roman market. His writer’s mind wandered back to an era where Trajan’s Market would have come alive at this time of the day, the epicenter of the Roman life at his very core. He could picture a young gladiator making his way through the crow, his eyes searching eagerly for the blond figure that he hadn’t seen in years; the war had come between them and took him away to the front in Germania, where he’d fought bravely just to survive, so he could come back to her, hold her in her arms and never let go.

Like in every other tale he’d written or mentally plotted for the last ten years, he looked like the gladiator and the blonde figure was the exact replica of the memory he had of her. The memory he’d held in his heart throughout a decade. The woman whose last name was a mystery to him.   
_Emma_.

_He’d met her ten years ago as he toured around Amsterdam with his backpack and bumped into her in the middle of Museumplein, her nose buried in her tourist guidebook while she was looking for the Van Gogh museum. He was immediately drawn to the way her cheeks blushed when he’d pointed at the building right in front of her._

_He hadn’t planned to go into the museum, but when he saw her heading to the queue, his feet quickly followed before his mind even registered what he was doing._

_And they were never apart for the rest of the weekend. They toured the city, visit the museums, walked the tiny streets and got lost in the view of the channels at night, when the reflection of the lights on the water seemed to dance around their eyes._

_“Tell me your last name…” He begged her when he finally kissed her, his body pressed to hers on a secluded bench in Vondelpark._

_“What fun would that be?” She replied teasingly, her breath catching in her throat as his mouth toured her collarbone, his hands wandering on her hips._

_“I’ll invent one for you then,” he whispered, his lips lingering up her neck. “What about Swan?” He breathed the word against her ear and she moaned as she pulled him closer to her._

_“I like it.” She said as she brought his lips against hers before drowning in him._

_When he woke up the next morning, she was gone. A note was on his jacket pocket. “Killian, let’s leave this as a memory of a great weekend. It will be better than trying to make a long distance relationship work only to resent each other in the end. I’d rather remember you like this: perfect blue eyes underneath the starry night. Take care, Emma.”_

_He never saw her again. He had no way of finding her. For the past ten years, all he could do was write about her and close his eyes and conjure the image of his Swan in his mind._

He smiled as he signed copy after copy of his book, making small talk with the readers that had waited in line for hours to meet him. He took a moment to lift his head and inspect the crowd of readers that had gathered in the cozy bookstore. As he scanned the room, his eyes focused on her. Like a vision, like his mind had conjured his memory alive, standing at the door of the bookstore. It couldn’t be. Could it be? And then she looked at him and gave him a smile he had not seen in ten years. It was her.

Emma. _His Swan_.

She waited for him, sitting in one of the chairs that were spread around the bookstore, her legs moving nervously as her fingers fidgeted with the worn copy of his novel she held. She’d read it time after time, reading each line of the love story, her mind filling in the blanks and reaching the hidden meaning behind each word: the loss, the heartbreak, the desperate search for the one that ran away. 

And she could feel it all, because she’d regretted her decision the moment she was back at her home and missing him wasn’t a feeling that was fading away, but it grew stronger each day that she went without him.

So she put that feeling in the back of her mind and her heart, accepting it as the companion for her lonely nights; and she moved on with her life. Time and life went by, a year, two, then five and finally one day, as she toured around a bookstore she found herself looking at his blue eyes staring at her from the back cover of a book. She hastily looked for the name, for the last name she so stupidly refused to learn ten years ago: Jones. _Killian Jones_.

A five minute online search was enough to show a book sign itinerary around Europe. She’d missed Paris and Amsterdam (she’d love to find him in Amsterdam) but she had a chance to reach Rome. A five minute browse booked her a flight and she rushed to her house, hoping on the first taxi she found, her fingers already searching for the first page of the novel.

Five days later, here she was, waiting for him to finish his book signing; wondering if perhaps she’d read too much into his novel. If, perhaps, she had projected in his words what she wanted him to feel, what she had been feeling.

And suddenly, he was standing in front of her, a smile on his face, little creases around his eyes, his forget-me -not blue eyes that she had never been able to forget looking awestruck at her. She stood up slowly, her own lips curving into a smile as he reached for a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“You found me, Swan.” He said.


	2. Chapter 2

_“You found me, Swan.” He said._

She smiled shyly at him and he bit his lower lip to refrain from pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless. She was as breathtaking as he remembered her, the little creases around her eyes only making her more real, more tangible, more within his grasp.

“Nolan.” She said as her hand fidgeted with her purse. “Emma Nolan.”

“Killian Jones.” He tilted his head at her. “But I presume you’ve already figured that out.”

Her green eyes sparkled at him and he could have easily spent the remainder of the afternoon lost in her eyes. But Rome was waiting to be explored and he only had one wish: he wanted to see the city with her. As they did ten years ago, he wanted to get lost in the streets with her by his side.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he asked, his hand reaching for hers, his fingers interlacing hers as his clear blue eyes looked at her with hope.

“And go where?” she asked, a smile on her face as she looked up to him.

“The city awaits…” he whispered closer to her ear, a glint of mischief in his eyes; and it was as if time had not passed by and he was the same young man she met a decade ago in Museumplein. She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Lead the way, Mr. Jones,” she said.

 

There was a solid, regal quality to the Roman Forum that took their breath away. He could feel history unfolding right in front of his eyes just as stories were always unfolding in his mind. But today, all his attention was placed on the woman walking next to him, her green eyes absorbing everything.

“First time in Rome?” he asked and she nodded.

“It wasn’t part of my backpack tour that time… I always felt like Italy deserved a trip on its own, but never got to do it.” She breathed in the atmosphere and sighed. “It’s nice; it has a distinct quality to it.”

“It does.” he agreed. “So tell me, Swan, what have you been up to these past ten years?”

“You are not going to beat around the bush, are you?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

He smiled as he got closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I think we’ve lost enough time, don’t you?” he said in a low voice.

She looked at him as she curled her lips in a self-knowingly smile. “I work in the restaurant business…”

“You are a chef?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Restaurant manager.” she added. “It’s a nice job, and the hours are flexible sometimes, which helps a lot…” She trailed off, hesitating for a second before continuing. “It helps when you are a single mother.”

“You have kids, then?” he asked interested.

“One, Henry. He’s eight.” she said shortly.

He shouldn’t ask, he knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help it. “And the father?”

“Not in the picture…” she clarified quickly, her hand fidgeting with her hair nervously. He nodded his comprehension and she looked at him curiously. “What about you?”

“Well,” he said as they kept on walking, “Clearly I am a writer, as you must have discovered. And the hours are flexible, which is very helpful when you are a single father.” He finished looking at her and saw the surprise in her face. “Her name is Daisy, she’s five and she has me wrapped around her little finger.”

She shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t ask. She bit her lower lip nervously and he could read the stress on her face. “Her mother died when Daisy was two years old.” He said slowly, a small hint of sadness in his voice. “We were not together when it happened. We had split shortly after Daisy was born but still…” He trailed off, averting his eyes and looking at the ruins in front of them.

“I am sorry.” she offered, reaching for his arm. He smiled slowly at her, holding her gaze a long, lingering moment, before interlacing his fingers with hers.

“Come on, there’s more to see, Swan,” he said.

They walked out of the  Forum and into the heart of the city, while they kept exchanging stories. She lived in Paris with her son; but she flew frequently to the States to see her family. He lived in London, near his brother and his wife, who helped him raise Daisy. He also had a summer house in Dover, where he spent the summers writing and sailing.  As they got lost in small streets trying to find the Pantheon (he had insisted she needed to see it), her heart kept pounding faster and faster in her chest. There he was, and he was no longer a fantasy she’d kept for so many years. He was still funny in that self deprecating way, but he was also calmer than she remembered. He was _real_. He was no longer the image of what could have been, of what her memory had made him be all those years. In front of her stood Killian Jones, a single father who wrote for a living and enjoyed a cup of espresso on the go. And she was falling for him.

He breathed deeply as his hand reached for hers again. He couldn’t stop holding her hand, afraid that if he let go, he would turn away and she’d be gone as fast as she has appeared back in his life. For ten years he had held the memory of her in his mind, crafting the perfect image of who she had been, of who she’d probably become. And the reality of her in front of him was more breathtaking than any image he could have conjured in his mind. She was still tough and centered, strong, fierce. But underneath all that was a softness that was nesting deep into him. She was _real_. She was a single mother that managed restaurants and could not drink coffee unless it came with tons of milk and a shot of cinnamon. And he was falling for her.

She stopped to admire one of the street stands, full of different gladiator figures and art prints. He looked at her mesmerized, trying to find the words that would perfectly describe standing in the afternoon sunlight, her hair loose on her back, her voice travelling through the space as she asked something of the salesman.

She turned around and gave him a genuine smile… “What?” she asked curiously when she reached him.

“Did you ever wonder…” he started but trailed off nervously, running his hand through his hair.

“Everyday.” she whispered softly, her eyes never leaving his. “I should have given you my last name ten years ago…” she confessed.

“We wouldn’t be who we are now…” he admitted and she nodded, understanding the meaning behind his words. “We wouldn’t be here, walking around Rome next to each other. We wouldn’t be exchanging stories about our children.” He smiled softly before reaching to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand moving to her cheek.

“Emma…” he whispered before stepping closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. He closed the space between them his lips capturing hers in a soft kiss. When she put her arms around her neck, pulling him closer, a soft groan escaped him as he tilted his head to have better access and deepen the kiss. His arm reached to grab her by the waist, pressing her even closer to him.

It was even better than he remembered. It was different, it was not just raw passion, it was understanding, it was longing, it was finding comfort after years of solitude.

It was coming _home_.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a brief second, his mind racing with thoughts before quickly deciding. He opened his eyes and looked at her earnestly.

“Please tell me you don’t have a plane to catch tonight, please tell me you have someone looking after your boy for the rest of the weekend.” he asked breathlessly

“I  - I --- Killian…” she hesitated, fear taking her over, making her want to run away. To keep him as the possibility that never was instead of taking a chance and risk losing him. “We barely know each other…” Sse tried to rationalize but his eyes were bearing such passion that she felt he was climbing every wall to read her fears and fight against them.

“And yet you came looking for me.” he asserted. “ _Why_?”

“I had to see you.” She admitted. “But Killian, it’s been ten years…”

His hand went from her waist to her cheek, cradling her face as he gazed deeply into her green eyes, willing the fear away.

“Stay, Swan. Don’t leave me this time. I don’t want to lose you again.” He pleaded in a broken voice. “Please stay with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“Please stay with me.”_

She stood by the window, looking at the sun coming over the horizon, its rays of light flooding the city with crisp accuracy. Her mind wondered to the evening before.

_His arms around her, pressing her firmly against him in the center of the room. His hands travelling all through her body: exploring, reconnecting, reclaiming, branding, begging, pleading, loving._

_“I’ve dreamed of this for years…” He whispers against her skin and she can only hold on tighter to this feeling, to him, as her hands reach to undo the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest and slowly removing the fabric from his arms. It’s then when she sees it, the black swan tattoo on his right wrist. She smiles softly against his chest and he catches the change in her mood._

_His gaze follows hers only to smile sheepishly at his arm. He turns to look at her and he finds her smirking at him, “What?” he asks and she smiles softly, whispering against his lips. “You’ll see,” she says before kissing him again._

_He presses feathering kisses against her collarbone and she shivers against him. He smirks under her skin… “I remember that shiver…” he says._

_“You do?” she teases him._

_“I remember everything…” He whispers against her skin, his stubble against the hollow of her throat making her gasp as he slowly lays her on the bed. “I remember the feel of your skin against my lips; I remember every scar, every mark, every curve of your body. I remember every gasp, every moan, every thrust.” His hands move to undo the zipper of her jeans, and he kisses her stomach, before whispering again, “I remember a particular sensitive spot, right in here…” He says as his fingers caress her hipbone and he looks at the skin he so clearly recalls from his memories. He freezes for a second at the sight of a black swan tattoo under his fingertips, before darting his eyes back at hers. There’s emotion in his eyes, before they darken lustfully, mischievously. “Oh, Swan….” He whispers before his lips press a soft kiss against her tattoo and she moans. And he keeps going, down and down, pressing soft kisses against her skin._

_Her body is as he remembers and yet it’s different: softer, rounder, rough around some edges…_

_There are creases and callouses on his body as well that she doesn’t recall from before. Yet, as he thrusts deeply into her, his forehead resting against hers, her hands caressing his back, she knows this feeling is real._

_He knows that this is what he’s been chasing for the past ten years in each one of his novels and yet he still failed miserably at describing it. No words can describe what it is to sink into her deeply, to watch her come undone under his arms and drown in her and never come back. To love her in the purest, most basic way, in the movement of this body against hers._

Strong arms embraced her from behind, his lips pressing a soft kiss on the base of her neck before his cheek rested against hers.

“You’re up early…” He whispered against her ear.

“What now?” She asked, her hand interlacing with his as she breathed him in, looking out the window.

“The city is waking up.” He said, his nose nuzzling her neck. “And there’s so much more to see: there is the Coliseum, San Pietro in Vincoli, the Vatican Museums. We have to throw a coin at Fontana di Trevi to wish for a return to the city, we have to eat a slice of pizza sitting on a Roman Empire ruined column at a random park and marvel at the amount of cats in this city. We have to walk the small streets under the starry night, drunk on each other’s presence; and we have to make love again in this very room tonight.”

“And after all that?” She asked and he held her even tighter.

“After all that, you’ll give me all your contact information: email, phone number, cell phone number, work number, twitter username, you’ll friend me on Facebook. You’ll even give me your physical address…” He pressed a soft kiss on her cheek before whispering in her ear. “I’m not losing contact with you again, Swan.  I’ve waited an eternity for you to find me.”

“It wasn’t an eternity…” She scoffed at him.

“It felt like it…” He smirked against her skin.

He lived on his promise of what the day and night would entail for them and Sunday found them at the airport, with a heated goodbye kiss at the gate of his flight back to London.

“ _I’ll call you_.” He promised before pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I’m not going to lose you again, Swan.” He promised to her and to himself.

The next Friday evening, around 8.30 pm, her doorbell rang. She opened the door to find him standing there, a small suitcase at his feet and a barely awake little girl in his arms. 

“It takes 3 hours and 27 minutes to travel from my doorstep to yours.” He smiled at her. “This is Daisy.” He said.

She tugged the hand of the boy that was standing next to her in his pajamas. “This is Henry.” She replied. “Come in.”

They walked around Jardin des Tuilleries and took a boat up the Seine. She took them to the Latin Quarter to visit the street fair and they ate Nutella crepes and pain au chocolat.  They stayed at her house, the four of them playing games on the living room floor and when she looked up to find him staring fondly at her, a sense of family ran through her spine. It felt right, it felt effortless.

_It felt like home._

 

She knocked on his doorstep the next Friday, Henry holding her hand. Killian broke into a huge smile when he answered and Daisy ran to Henry’s arms.

“3 hours and 15 minutes.” Emma smirked.

She met his brother and his brother’s wife and she marveled at his lovely house. They walked through Portobello Market and they took the kids to Hyde Park. Liam and Belle volunteered to watch over the kids, so they went out to dinner and walk along the Thames holding hands. He kissed her in the middle of the London Bridge, whispering “ _I love you”_ against her lips. 

 

“I am tired of the French cuisine business.” She told him one night after two months of weekend visits. The kids were already in bed and they were sitting in his small garden. “I think I should find something here.”

“No one is ever tired of the French cuisine, Swan.” He said. “Let alone leaves it for the British cuisine.” He sighed. “I cannot ask you to change your life so drastically.”

“I am tired of missing you…” She confessed and he got up to reach for her. She held him tight, whispering in his ear. “I don’t want to keep saying goodbye to you each Sunday… can we- can we move here?” She asked.

He pulled away a little so his eyes could meet hers. “Do you really have to ask, Emma?” He smiled before leaning in to kiss her.

 

_“Killian, where are you taking me?” She asked as he pulled her hand, the kids running through the park, the Rijksmusem at their backs._

_He seemed to look confused for a second before he made a decision. “Here…” He said before turning around and facing her. “Many years ago…” He said, “This is where I met you for the first time, Emma. I fell in love with you in that same moment and a part of me never stopped loving you.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “One year ago, you finally found me… and I fell in love with you all over again.” He smiled at Emma, his hand reaching for his pocket to pull out a ring. “Marry me, Swan…”_

_She smiled through her tears before reaching to him. “Yes.”_


End file.
